


Closed Mic

by ProseApothecary



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Open Mic Coda, s4e6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Who needs a soft open when you have a soft open mic?





	Closed Mic

Patrick comes up to David, leaning against the counter, and holds two fingers against his pulse.

“Look at that. You survived an open mic night.”

“It was touch and go during Bob’s poetry session.”

“They say write what you know.”

“And Bob knows car parts. And a myriad of ways to compare them to repressed human emotion.”

“Speaking of. Are you ok?”

David’s suddenly very aware that Patrick’s fingers are still against his pulse. He grabs Patrick’s hands instead, stops him feeling the blood coursing far too quickly through his veins. Looking directly at him is still a little too difficult though.

“I’m ok,” he says, then realising that that is not quite the right thing to say, “I might be a little in shock over how…non-terrible tonight was.”

Patrick wears his smiles across his whole face. It helps David know they’re real. “Non-terrible, huh? That is high praise.”

He knows that’s enough. Patrick would let him leave it there. Tease him about it sure, but not force him into tearing out a part of his heart to put on display, to poke and prod and discuss. Still, Patrick is trying, clearly, and David wants to try harder.

And replacing Patrick’s knowing smirk with earnest surprise would be very satisfying.

David takes a breath and looks off into the middle distance. Spots the collapsed tower of moisturisers and mentally reorders them. It’s calming, and it helps to have something to focus on apart from Patrick’s all-seeing eyes.

“It was perfect,” David says in one breath. “So thank you.”

David feels Patrick’s hands tighten against his.

“No one’s ever really-” David stops. _Too much._

Patrick’s hands drop and David panics for a second, before he feels fingertips against his cheek. It makes it hard to avoid Patrick’s gaze.

Patrick kisses him. So gently that David wants to reassure him that he’s not breakable. But they both know that’s not quite true.

He wraps his arms around David’s neck and holds him close. “Come over.”

“…But there’s a moisturiser pyramid that’s begging to be restacked-”

Patrick huffs something between a sigh and a laugh against David’s neck. “Tomorrow.”

“Ok. Just…leave it to me. Because you always place everything just a few millimetres off, and I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose-”

“I would never.”

David eyes him suspiciously.

“I’ll leave it to you.” Patrick promises. “I guess our morning customers will just have to deal with a collapsed display until you come in at ten.”

“…You’re right. I should fix it now.”

Patrick groans and drops his head against David’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay,” David says as Patrick sits on the counter, kicking his legs up.

Patrick doesn’t grace that with a response, besides, “Who was your favourite performer? Besides me, I mean.”

“…Who says you were my favourite?”

Patrick just tilts his head and gives a disbelieving smile.

David tries to remember the performances. He’d sort of zoned out after Patrick’s. Only Bob’s poetry had given him enough mood whiplash to be memorable.

“I liked Twyla’s…interpretive boa dance?”

“With tap shoes! Truly, a double threat.” He gets up. “That reminds me.” He goes to the backroom and comes back with a pink boa. “She gifted it to us, after the performance.”

David doesn’t look up from stacking. “Burn it,” he says as he places the last tub on top of the stack.

Patrick loops it around David’s neck. “This is a good look for you.”

“I’m sure it goes great with my thousand-dollar sweater.” He gives a little tap to the final moisturiser tub before ducking under the boa and heading to the door.

“You coming?”

“Just wondering if I should get the fringed vest, or-”

“Oh my _God_,” David says, trying to let his frustration show. He’s not very successful.

It’s like happiness boiling over. He wonders how many smiles he’ll have to spill before he can start showing _normal_ emotions again.

Patrick stands there, grinning at him. “Was that a yes…?”

“Shut up,” says David, unfortunately still smiling. “I’m leaving now. Bye.”

The next kiss isn’t as gentle as the first. But it’s surging with love, David can tell, and it leaves him static for a few moments after.

“You coming?” Patrick asks, suddenly at the door.

“You’re the worst.”

Patrick beams. “You’re simply the-”

“Don’t even try it.”


End file.
